


Fool Me Once

by Kali_Blue



Series: The False Godkiller [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Angst and Humor, Drunk Julan, Dunmer - Freeform, Humor, M/M, Morrowind, Vivec - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kali_Blue/pseuds/Kali_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the idea of running away from home to fulfill an ancient prophecy sounds good in theory, Julan starts to wonder if his journey to become Nerevar is worth it after all when he finds himself surrounded by three daedra and near death. </p>
<p>Foresight has never been his strong point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool Me Once

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by both Kateri's Julan Ashlander and Emma's Thief Companion Constance. Both awesome and highly addictive Morrowind mods.

Julan hurt – everywhere.

What on Nirn had possessed him to think he could attempt to pass through the Ghostgate alone? Julan should have listened to his mother. Or rather, what he _knew_ she would say to him and his choice to undertake such a ridiculous and almost certainly futile journey.

Had Julan himself even entertained the idea that he may die just from attempting to pass through the Ghostgate? No. No he hadn’t, and instead Julan had thought the deceptively clear skies had been an _omen_ when he’d set off. He should have known _better_. The weather in this part of Morrowind was uncertain, at best, and the clear skies had quickly given way to a harsh sand storm that not only blinded him but seemed to cut to his very bones.

The weather aside, Julan had at least thought he could handle one or two daedra lurking by the ancient towers. He’d fought obnoxious cliff-racers and rats and even the occasional grumpy guar before. Sure, the Clanfear may have set some alarms bells off when he’d approached them, they’d _reeked_ of coal and ash, but from a distance they looked scarcely more perilous than the average Morrowind flora and fauna. The scaly bipedal creatures were hardly taller than his shoulder, with small front claws and beak-like mouths.

No, he’d not been nervous at all. It was the Ghostgate with its looming, transparent walls that had set him on edge.

Now? Well, now he was stuck with his back to the Ghostgate - wedged between sweeping mountain cliffs on either side of him, prevented from going back by three Clanfears who had somehow managed to circle around him and block his access to the path forward. All three creatures seemed to pin him to the spot with the same identical malevolent blood-red eyes. God, those eyes. Those eyes could _only_ originate from the realms of Oblivion.

Julan tightened his weak grip on his sword, widened his stance, and tried to stand a little straighter. Even if he was an outcast, tradition upheld that he should at least _look_ like a warrior and face his end bravely. The Ashlander way would dictate that Julan be _happy_ about dying in a pool of his own blood. His last thoughts should have been of hearth and home.

Instead, his brain only seemed able to fixate on his limbs, which felt rather like jelly. His weakened arms shook just with the effort to hold up his battle-worn sword, and the remains of his shirt and leggings hung tattered and slashed, revealing deep wounds from which blood poured in rivulets to patter softly onto the sand. He wasn’t in great shape, and it was getting to the point that Julan was beginning to feel rather detached from his own body.

Even as bad as he was, Julan really, _really_ didn’t want to die.

So. Julan figured he had two choices. He could drop his sword and try to run _around_ the creatures with the tiny sliver of energy he had left, or he could steel his courage and lift his sword for his final battle. Only one choice gave him a slightly better chance of living to see another day, yet the strong prospect of getting caught without a weapon and having the skin stripped from his body did little to appeal to Julans sense of self-preservation.

And as he watched the biggest Clanfear step towards him with a hungry glint in it's eyes, Julan needed to make the choice _now_.

Thankfully, that decision was made for him when two of the deadra burst into flames. Julan could only stare comically as the creatures disintegrated into ash right before his eyes.The third spun around, confused and snapping at the air, until Julan noticed the arrow protruding through daedra's eye. The creature gave a horrible keening noise that sent a shiver up his spine before it dropped to the ground.

Julan blinked, suddenly exhausted beyond belief. As if the Cleanfear’s death was a signal for his body to give up, his sword slipped from his grip and he found himself on the ground and looking up at the sky.

He didn't even have the strength to be startled when the face of a young elf popped up in his eyesight - curly blonde hair framed a pixie-like face, delicately pointed ears and cream skin, and as her brows drew together her appearance became almost child-like. Still, the Breton's shrewd blue eyes were far from innocent.

‘What a waste!’ The woman’s pitch was high and childish, and she sounded completely disgusted. As if that wasn’t enough to emphasize her point, she placed her hands on her hips and pouted. ‘We came all this way for nothing. Look… just look. He won’t even move when I poke him,’ she knelt at his side, and Julan felt distinctly uncomfortable as the woman's eyes appraised his body. ‘He doesn’t even have anything worth stealing. Not a septim on him.’  

‘I don’t think he’s quite dead yet, Constance. Let’s leave out the grave-robbery until we’re sure.’ The second voice was male, though with a slightly high inflection that he would have called feminine had he been in a state to comment. He turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse of a second figure in his peripheral vision. This one was a dunmer like himself, yet definitely not an Ashlander. He wasn’t even a native to Morrowind. The man certainly had the typical blue-grey skin and red eyes of the dark elves, yet the cut of his mage robes and the slight twang in his accent were most definitely _not_ from his native homeland.

A Cyrodil dunmer. Lovely.

The flames still dancing along his arms gave him a good indication of who was responsible for the ash piles currently being scattered to the winds. Damn. Maybe Julan would have been better off with the Clanfear after all.

‘Oh?’ the woman who went by the name of Constance edged closer to him, and Julan barely flinched when she reached back to pull an arrow out of her quiver before promptly poking him with it. No matter. What was one more cut in his ever expanding collection of injuries? ‘Say, dunmer, are you alive? Do something then.’

Julan did do something. He moaned in pain.

‘He’s alive!’ the woman cried, yet Julan didn’t think the relief in her voice was for his wellbeing.

The dunmer crouched down beside Constance to inspect him. Julan found himself, rather uncomfortably, meeting the eyes of this mysterious outlander for the first time. He opened his mouth to say something.

‘Hush,’ the dunmer said in a kind, if stern, voice, and the fire in his hands was suddenly replaced by a blinding white light. Without thinking Julan let out ragged breath. A healing spell. It can’t have been all bad if the man was at least planning to save his life.

‘I’m not much of a healer, mind, but I can stop the bleeding and mend the worst of your wounds. You’ll be unconscious for several days, but I figure that’s better than being dead.’ The dunmer seemed to search Julan’s eyes for some kind of permission. Whatever he saw there he must have taken as assent, because he nodded.

As Julan felt himself slip towards darkness, he became oddly fascinated by the fall of the dunmer’s hair. Although bound up in a tail, it was quite long and startlingly white in colour. It was the last thing he saw when his head flopped to the side and he felt himself fall into oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a few years ago after playing Morrowind. As it's been rotting on my computer for some years, I thought I might finally put it up with the rest. It won't be entirely faithful to Kateri's and Emma's mods (though close enough!), and I plan to write this fic as a series of individual stand-alone stories with an eventual overall arc. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! :)


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